SPS Series
by Vashti
Summary: She's here on anxious girlfriend business, not anxious Slayer business. They look the same, but anxious Slayer business includes stakes, a scythe, and angry witches. (formerly "Nine-Tenths", now a series.)
1. Nine-Tenths

**Title:** Nine-Tenths  
 **Series:** SPS  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Fandom:** Mercy Thompson Series  
 **Character(s):** Bran Cornick, Charles Cornick  
 **Rating:** FR13/PG  
 **Summary:** "Charles, is this the one the Slayer's people contacted us about?" Bran asked. "Yes."  
 **Length:** ~490 words  
 **Disclaimer:** Only the words are mine, and that's probably up for philosophical debate.  
 **Notes:** written for the 2018 August FAD. _Not at all_ related to the "Pack a Smile" series. This has been reviewed and edited for clarity, but it is largely unchanged from the original. If you notice any errors, please point them out in the comments.  
 **Notes2:** This takes place sometime before the start of the Mercy Thompson series, and in some AU future of Buffy where Oz comes back from Tibet and stays. (If by some strange chance you've ever read my B/O series Closet, it's that future. You don't need to read it, though.)

* * *

They found him bleeding out into the Montana snow.

There had been a snow squall, blown over now. Some of the younger people had gone out to see the fresh coating on the trees and to let the kids play safely among the deepening drifts.

That far away from town, in the heart of the mountainous woods, there were no cell phone signals. With no wolves among them, it had taken four to carry the heavy muscle- and fur-bound creature out of the woods. The adults sent some of the older children ahead. The others were herded together to go a different way before they could see something that might scare them. They knew that something was wrong, however. The adults who had been happy to meander and trail behind them were now hurried and brusque. The elder siblings and friends who had laughed and chased and helped them make snowballs suddenly had an air responsible seriousness. "Later…later…" was the only answer their questions received as they were led home.

They did not see how, somewhere along the way, the heavy muscle- and fur-bound creature had shed his wolf skin. By the time the party met Bran at his front door, only two were carrying the stranger between them, the wound that had been sluggish welling fresh blood.

The children who had gone ahead hung back from the man, from their parents and older brothers and sisters and neighbor-friends. Whatever excitement had flooded them on the flight from the mountain to the house had been stifled by Bran's presence as they relayed the adults' message. It still held them under sway.

As he had stepped down off his porch to meet the party, Bran said to the man who had followed him out of the house, "Charles, is this the one the Slayer's people contacted us about?"

"Yes, Da."

Charles was the younger of his two sons. Bran nodded at his. Flicking a glance at the two supporting the young stranger, he said, "Bring him in." To the others, he said, "Go home."

The children ran towards their guardians. The adults – snatching up hands and looping arms around shoulders – nodded to Bran as they passed him, all careful to avoid his eyes. No one spoke, and the children's efforts were quelled when they tried.

Bran stood placid against the cold though he was barefoot in jeans and a long-sleeved Henley, until the yard had cleared and every head had disappeared towards town.

Mercy was standing in the doorway of the guestroom when Bran went back inside his house. "Charles says that's the one the Slayers are looking for," she said as he walked down the hallway towards her.

"Looks that way."

She sucked a breath in between her teeth. "We are so screwed."

Inside, Bran could scent both his sons – including the doctor – and the strange new wolf. "Maybe not."

He was the Marrok, after all – the Alpha of every werewolf in North America.

Fin[ite]


	2. Lifted

**Title:** Lifted  
 **Character(s):** Bran Cornick, Charles Cornick, Friendly Neighborhood Slayer  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** "Hi there! Just your friendly neighborhood slayer here! Stopping by to fetch our resident werewolf!"  
 **Length:** ~1780 words  
 **Notes:** written for the 2018 August FAD on livejournal. When I wrote this, I was just starting to get into the depths of crazy that is August for me, but, luckily for you, I have since reviewed and edited this story for clarity and general sleep-deprived kookiness. Which is not to say I'm perfect. I am my own beta, after all. If you see something, please note it in the comments. If it's absolutely horrifying, feel free to send me a PM. Thanks!

* * *

Her power precedes her, though Bran can hardly see her, can hardly _smell_ her, past the layers of outerwear and the scent of cold she brings into the house with her.

Her scent becomes clearer as she sheds layer after layer - blood and earth, sunshine and salt water - handing them off to an uncharacteristically silent Mercy. He thinks he knows what this blond woman is, she who drove into Aspen Creek and straight to his home as confidently as any of his children, though he can only guess at who. Once Mercy leaves with the clothes, Samuel will keep her from returning to the room until Bran gives the all clear.

Bran watches as he leans against the back of an overstuffed low-backed chair, arms crossed over his chest and the toes of his bare feet kneading into the rug. If he thinks long enough, he can remember who gave it to him or made it for him, but that kind of looking back wasn't their way. The past could be an anchor that made living nearly forever an unbearable weight. There is more than enough in the here and now, more than enough to remember of the recent past, to keep him occupied.

The blond thanks Mercy as she hands the girl her last article of outerwear, a multi-pink striped knit hat with two pom-poms that match a pair of fingerless driving gloves, before giving her attention to the elephant in the room.

Charles.

"Hi, there!" she had chirped at Charles when he'd opened the door to her insistent knocking. "It's your friendly neighborhood slayer, here!"

Bran had instructed his son to let the girl in. Charles had silently stepped aside, allowing the young woman to all but bounce across the threshold, but didn't actually welcome her in. That was when Mercy had almost magically appeared to take her things – and likely find an excuse to stick around.

"What brings a slayer to Aspen Creek?" Charles says as soon as Mercy has left. From where Bran watches, he can see that his son has unknowingly imitated his stance – arms crossed over his chest, toes of his bare feet pressed into the floor. There are no rugs where his son stands, the better to maintain traction for running human feet and wolf paws.

Bran had almost laughed at her greeting, recognizing the reference instantly, but he knows that Charles' facade won't have cracked at all.

"Wow, tough room," the blond says, her face falling a little in disappointment. "Not a nerd?"

The evidence of which is in his son's continued silence.

The pretty blond slayer shrugs and Bran thinks she must be older than she looks to be so nonchalant. Charles has intimidated men and wolves three times her size, no matter that slayers can be a cocky bunch especially now that there are more than one of them. Which makes Bran snort.

The pretty blond peers around his son, noticing him for the first time. "Alright! Someone who gets my borrowed nerd-humor!"

"Actually I was thinking of 'There can be only one,'" Bran says.

Her face lights up and the other half of her scent - sunshine and salt water - comes to the fore. "I know that one! Highlander, right?"

Bran shares a smile with her. "Yeah, you know it?"

"A show starring a yummy former male model with a to die for accent, a mane of glory and a gorgeous sword? Xander and Andrew didn't even have to try very hard with that one."

"So I'm guessing you also like Xena?"

"Is it colder than a head cheerleader's coldest cold shoulder outside? Heck yeah!"

Bran chuckles at the pretty blond slayer's enthusiasm as Charles looks on, a distinct look of disapproval on his face. "If you two are finished."

Looking appropriately chastised, but amused nonetheless, the pretty blond slayer stops leaning around Charles. "Sorry. Good thing you stopped us when you did. Slayers have Very Definite feelings about the Warrior Princess."

Charles continues to stare at her.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" This she directs towards Bran, peering around Charles until she remembers herself. "Sorry!" she says, wincing. "We just discussed this."

"Why are you here?" is Charles' response.

The pretty blond slayer smiles. "Oh, y'know, just here to fetch our resident werewolf! Word on the street is that you have him." Her words are as perky as ever, but there is the undercurrent of steel that Bran is far more used to associating with slayers than this happy Valley Girl variant.

Bran can sense the tension in his son, although he seems to give no outward sign when he says, "And whose word would that be?"

"So you don't have him?"

"We do-"

"And is he okay?" her concern is genuine and immediate. It strengthens the salt water and earth in her scent. Whoever she is, beyond being one of the legion of slayers that now roam the Earth, her feelings about the wolf in their infirmary were personal.

 _Tell her whatever she wishes to know about the pup_ , Bran projects to Charles.

"He's been stabilized," Charles tells her.

The pretty blond pales. "So it was bad." She makes it a statement, but the stiff set of her shoulders declares that she wants Charles to tell her she's wrong.

"Our doctors believe he was gored by moose."

"What, seriously? Aren't they, like, vegetarians?"

"Half-ton vegetarians who tend to get nervous around large predators."

She scoffed. "But c'mon! They have grass teeth-"

"And large horns and sharp hooves. Even a deer can cause serious damage if given a reason."

A hand flew to her mouth. "Oz!"

 _Your brother would say you need to work on your bedside manner_ , he told his son as he pushed off from the overstuffed chair.

"We should let her see him," Bran says genially as he comes to stand beside his son. Charles dwarfs him, as he dwarfs most people, making Bran appear shorter and slighter than he is. He conveniently stands a half-step in front of his son - enough so that Charles' Brother Wolf won't feel the need to defer to him without alerting the slayer before them.

"If he can be moved, I'd like to take him home," she says looking between the two of them.

Bran shakes his head. "Perhaps if he'd been able to keep his wolf form, but he shifted back on the way here."

She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose. "And you're sure a moose did this?"

Nodding, Bran says to Charles, "Didn't they find the animal not too far from where they found..." He looked at the pretty blond slayer again. "You said his name was Oz?"

She nods.

Charles inclines his head. "There were some slash marks on the animal but most of the blood was lobo."

The pretty blond swears and immediately apologizes. "Sorry! Sorry! I shouldn't swear in front of strangers, especially when you've both been very kind. In your own way." She tries to smile at the crack, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Bran extends an arm. "Let's go see your friend."

"Boyfriend, actually," she says with a smile that does reach her eyes. "So you see why I'm kind of Anxiety Girl. He was a good friend, though, before we made with the smooching." She covers her face with her hands, slowly pushing them up until the heels of both hands press into her eyes. "Sorry! I'm not usually a babbler. I think this is all starting to catch up to me."

Bran steps forward slowly – a distraught slayer is no less unpredictable than the moose that harmed her…boyfriend – and gently wraps his hands around her forearms. If not for the sense of power that has been constant since she stepped out of her light jeep, he wouldn't know that this pretty young woman was a fierce and deadly warrior. She is by no means his first slayer, however, so he's not entirely surprised. Fragility was one of the slayers' deceptive charms. That his hands wrap so completely around her arms is unexpected however, and part of him takes pity on this girl.

"You weren't really in the neighborhood, were you?" he says when he can see her face again.

She shakes her head. "We've been tracking Oz since he dropped off the grid."

"You're probably hungry and tired, as well as Anxious Girl."

She smiles, a little embarrassed, but seemingly also grateful that he understands. "Probably."

Nodding slowly, ever aware that the pretty young woman in his hands may only be a child but is still a dangerous one, Bran says, "How about we see that young man of yours, then we'll get some food."

He glances back at his son. To the slayer it probably looks like he's getting permission, but instead he silently instructs his son to have Leah or Mercy pull together light refreshment. Mercy and Samuel have been listening from the other room, so Bran is sure that it will be the pair of them. He hasn't seen Leah all day.

"Thank you so much," the pretty blond says with genuine feeling. "I really appreciate this."

"Wolves take care of their own," Bran says as he tucks her right hand into the crook of his arm. Something about his words or actions make her stiffen momentarily, but only for a moment.

When Bran leads her away from the interior of the house, she frowns and asks where they're going. He chuckles. "I forgot for a moment that you aren't as tolerant of the cold as we are. We're getting right into a car, so you won't need quite so many layers, but let's get you dressed."

"Yes, please! My California blood is too thin for all this mountain air."

Bran chuckles again as he hands her into the mudroom. She's more than halfway dressed in what she deems suitable for 'going right into a car' when Bran says, "You know, we don't even know your name."

"Really? Oops! Usually my watcher reminds me about that stuff," she adds, blushing. "Please call me Anne. And you are?"

"Bran," he says, watching her wind a scarf around her lower face, scenting that what she says isn't completely true. Which part of it, however, remains to be seen.

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles behind the pink and cream knit scarf. "Our names go together. If you say it a certain way. Anne and Bran."

"Bran and Anne."

Her smile grows.

Bran tucks her right hand into his arm once again. "Let's go check on your friend." To his son he says, _And while we're at it, look up Anne the Vampire Slayer._

Fin[ite]


	3. Lost Causes

**Title:** Lost Causes  
 **Character(s):** Bran Cornick, Buffy Summers, Oz Osbourne, Mercy Thompson  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Timeline:** Mercy Thompson – pre-series, BtVS – AU from "New Moon Rising"  
 **Summary:** "Should you be telling me this?" Bran asked, eyebrows drifting towards his hairline. "Probably not. But we've got short people solidarity!"  
 **Length:** ~2,160

* * *

Twenty-four hours after she had appeared on his doorstep, the pity Bran had felt for the pretty blond vampire slayer had yet to abate.

He stood leaning on the doorframe of the rescued wolf's room. The infirmary building was as homey as anyone could make a small hospital. At first glance the rooms didn't look like they belonged in one, but there weren't enough knickknacks, doilies, pale wood panels or hand-carved treasures to scrub the scent of antiseptic, fear and sickness from its rooms.

Bran was watching the pair as they slept – Anne the Slayer with her head pillowed in her arms on the side of the bed, and Oz with his unbandaged hand in her hair. The healing process would go faster if he could be coaxed back into his wolf form, but he was still too weak. Samuel and Doc Wallace had reported a marked improvement in the pup's vitals since the slayer had appeared in his room. At least now there was hope that he could be forced to shift in a day or two.

Bran sensed Mercy's approach and shifted over so that she lean on other side of the doorframe.

"You've gotta admit," she said, "they're kinda cute together." Her eyes flicked between the pair in the room and Bran.

"I never said they weren't."

"But you want to separate them."

"I never said that either."

Mercy scowled, and Bran reined in his impulse to laugh. His children, all born and raised in different eras, were as different from each other as the points on a compass rose. What Samuel and Charles could take with a snort or stoic dry humor, was a personal affront to Mercy. And what Mercy found uproariously funny left Samuel and Charles clutching their metaphysical pearls in horror. It was interesting, to say the least.

"You said all the wolves are yours."

Bran nodded.

"The Slayer's people say that this wolf belongs to them."

"He's a person," the pretty young slayer said from the bed, "not a thing."

Bran and Mercy looked at her. Head still pillowed on her arms, the boy's hand still tangled in her hair, she was now looking at them. "You're awake," came from Mercy. Bran contented himself with a half-smile.

They pretty blond slayer wasn't to be distracted, however. "Oz doesn't belong to us. And if he does it's because we belong to him, too." Then the girl rubbed her nose against her hands and appeared to go back to sleep.

Mercy slapped both hands over her mouth, but couldn't hide the way her shoulders were shaking.

"You find this amusing," Bran said.

She almost stumbled backwards out of the room in her haste to get away from him. A burst of laughter coming from the direction of the nurses' desk followed a moment later. When he looked back into the room, the pretty blond slayer was looking at him again.

"Kids," she said.

"You have?" he asked. That slayers didn't usually live long enough to have children stood unspoken between them.

"Kid sister. Almost the same, but totally not. Or so I hear."

She lifted Oz's hand from her head then pushed herself up from the edge of the boy's bed. She pressed the hand she held against her cheek before setting it gently on the duvet covering him. Sitting up, she said, "There have been slayers with kids in the past. Not too many, though."

"That couldn't have end well," Bran said as he shifted fully into the room.

"Not many things end well in the life of a slayer," she said darkly. Then, with a grin that strongly reminded Bran of Mercy, she said, "On the other hand, I wouldn't want to get on the bad side of a pregnant slayer, would you?"

"Trying to tell me something, Slayer?"

Her hazel green eyes widened. "The kid sister is enough, thanks! Plus, if I was gonna tell anyone anything involving mood swings, food cravings and 3 am feedings-" Brow furrowed, she cut herself off. "Actually, that's a disturbingly accurate description of my life right now. Hunh."

Bran gave the slayer a broad, toothsome smile, hands helpfully jammed into his pockets.

"Anyway, I'd tell Oz first if we were going to be adding a kid to our already messed up lives."

"Of course you would, Buffy"

The Slayer, _the_ Slayer, grinned at him. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Something wasn't quite right when you gave us your name yesterday afternoon."

"Really?"

Hands still in his pockets, Bran shrugged. "It tasted a bit like a lie, but not."

"Really?" Buffy's eyes widened again. "Well that just sucks. Oz always said using Anne was safe. It's my middle name," she added conversationally.

"With younger wolves, I'm sure it is, but Charles and I are a little older."

"Oh," she began in the same conversational tone, "I wouldn't call being the oldest living werewolf in North America, and quite possibly the world, 'a little older'. Marrok."

The grin she gave him reminded him so strongly of Mercy, he would have thought his youngest had revealed his identity if he hadn't known her better. It was pure mischievous glee.

Bran pulled his hands out of his pocket and held his hands up as if in surrender. "And how did you figure it out, Slayer?"

Pouting, she said, "Can we leave off with the official titles that strike fear into the hearts of itty-bitties and big bads alike? I'm not here on official business – I'm here on worried girlfriend business."

"Should you be telling me this?" Bran asked, eyebrows drifting towards his hairline.

"Probably not. But we've got short people solidarity!"

Surprised laughter burst from Bran. He got himself under control as quickly as he'd lost it, though. "Short people solidarity?"

"Sure! I mean, yeah, you're taller than _me_ , but you're still pretty short for a guy, surrounded by people who are younger and yet genetically able to tower over you. Did I mention that my kid sister doubles as a telephone phone pole? And that she's been lording that fact over me since she turned fourteen? And that I was legally an adult by then?"

It took more effort than Bran would ever admit to a virtual stranger to maintain his neutral expression.

"Plus, you wanted to know how I figured out who you are when Mr. Tall-And-Glowering would have been the more logical guess?"

Pointing first at herself, then at Oz in the bed, Buffy said, "As you can see, I have lots of experience with concentrated awesomeness. If I didn't already know that the Marrok was male, I might have started with the kid. Marcia? Marissa? Merry?"

Tempting though it was to correct her, Bran kept his peace. It didn't seem to bother the Slayer: "Anyway, short people solidarity. We understand each other in a way that averages and talls are totally clueless about."

"Totally clueless?"

"Oh, for sure." Buffy held up a finger. "The joys and agonies of people thinking you're younger than you are." Another finger went up. "Crowds! On the one hand you can slip through them with stealthiest of ease, but on the other hand you're probably doing the stealth-slip because you can't see the band." A third finger went up. "At a sale, they still have your size, but you might have to fight some whiny teeny-bopper for it because you're probably shopping in their department." A fourth finger went up.

"How many of these do you have?" Bran asked.

Buffy shrugged. "A couple handfuls. Short people have short friends, because-"

"Short people solidarity," Bran guessed.

Buffy nodded solemnly. "We understand each other. That and slayers tend to come in concentrate. We've had discussions."

"And you have Very Definite feelings about 'the joys and agonies' of being short."

Buffy smiled. "See! You, like, _totally_ got it."

"I wasn't always short." Bran knew he was probably poking at her bright shiny bubble.

"And I wasn't always the Slayer," she said in a tone that burst the bubble entirely.

"Look, Bran, I didn't come here to start a war. I didn't come to renegotiate the dusty old agreement you made with the old Watchers Council back before my grandma was a glimmer in my great-grandma's eye. Although," she sighed, "I guess now that they're gone we really should. But not today. I'm not here for supernatural politics.

"I'm here because my musician boyfriend decided to jump-start our vacay in the middle of nowhere – which, if that's not a sign of love, I don't know what is?"

Amused, Bran said, "Oz going on vacation before you is a sign of his love?"

Buffy scoffed. "No, that's a sign of how crazy in love I am, that I'm willing to vacay in the middle of nowhere. Total California girl here. Gimme a beach, gimme waves, gimme hiking in the hills or, better yet, gimme an AmEx black card and the hallowed sidewalks of Rodeo Drive. But dirt? And trees? In the middle of Winter? No offense to your mountain community – which, I admit, is kinda gorgeous – but soooo not my cup of tea." She deflated on a sigh. "Oz wanted to get away, though. Just me and him. And what's better than that, right?" With an annoyed uptick of her lips, she added, "I didn't expect nature to have an opinion."

"She can have Very Definite feelings about those in her domain."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "You're not teasing me, are you?"

Eyes open as wide and innocently as any 'Who me?' expression Mercy had ever given him, Bran said, "Why? Do I seem like the teasing sort?"

"Yes."

Buffy reached for Oz's hand where it was lying on top of the duvet. She was looking at their linked fingers instead of Bran when she said, "I know that once he's strong enough to change he'll heal lickity-split. Can we hold off on the who-belongs-to-who discussion until after my alone time with my main squeeze? Especially since we might be spending it here or a containment room? This is like the second quietest week in the entire slayer calendar. We won't be this free again until after the Spring Apocalypse."

Frowning, Bran said, "You mean Spring Equinox."

Buffy snorted, but didn't otherwise acknowledge Bran's words. "Then everyone's seriously wiped, until they're not anymore, but _then_ everyone's all 'Let's Celebrate'. Which is _fine_! But getting in uninterrupted smoochie time with your guy gets super awkward when you're surrounded by exes and former crushes and a bunch of giggly hey-we're-still-alive girls who've gotta get their post-apocalyptical jollies somehow but are too young to drink."

She turned from Oz to look at Bran. "Know what I mean?"

"I'm actually afraid I do."

"So you'll give us a temporary reprieve?"

Bran eyed her and the young man lying unconscious in the infirmary bed. "I need to think this over," he said, preparing to leave.

Folding himself back into his more youthful persona was almost too easy. Bran realized he'd never fully left the persona's laid-back embrace. Buffy's attitude had helped. Except for meeting his eyes at will, she'd maintained a non-threatening position in her seat by the boy's bed. Her tone had been conversational. Her posture never stronger than what he would expect from a self-assured young woman. Sometimes she had been worried, sometimes she'd been flippant, but she hadn't been aggressive. The press of her power was no heavier now that he had outed her than it had been when Charles had opened the door to the unnamed slayer on their doorstep.

Bran was almost willing to believe that his wolf had recognized a rare equal in this young woman, the longest lived slayer in the history of the world. If not for that last. If that was all the power she had, then she might have been clever enough to survive this long, but that wouldn't make her an equal in the eyes of his very dominant wolf. And if, as he suspected, she was masking her ability, that should be putting his wolf on alert.

"I should discuss it with my second first," he added.

"Sure," Buffy said with a shrug and nod. "If the tables were turned, I'd probably discuss it with the gang first, too."

Bran made to turn on his heel and leave when Buffy's voice stopped him. "One thing, and I swear this isn't a threat, but if I don't check in within twelve hours the cavalry is going to come riding in on their trans-dimensional portals. Which is not a thing I want to happen if all you need is time!" Buffy added quickly. "I'm just saying, keep me in the loop, 'kay? I can deal with the guys."

"Of course. Short people solidarity."

Buffy grinned and Bran felt like grinning with her. Instead he nodded at her heartfelt thank you, before finally leaving the room and, ultimately, the infirmary building.

 _Samuel. Charles. Meet me at home. We have things to discuss._

Fin[ite]


	4. Necessary

**Title:** Necessary  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Character(s):** Buffy, Oz, Mercy Thompson  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Buffy and Mercy have an unexpectedly frank chat. But in Buffy-speak, so, y'know…  
 **Length:** ~1063 words

* * *

Buffy caught the eye of the teenage girl who was "passing by" Oz's room for the fifth time in an hour. With a come-thisaway gesture, Buffy beckoned the girl into the room. "So I hear you're not the Marrok," she said from her seat besides Oz's bed as the girl settled herself against the doorframe.

The girl laughed. And laughed and laughed. And then she laughed some more.

Buffy made a face. "I didn't realize I was making a funny. Usually I know before I start."

The girl flapped her hands at Buffy as she worked herself down. It took a solid sixty seconds. "I am definitely not the Marrok," she said, managing to stifle the worst of her giggles.

"Oh, so the Marrok's your dad. That must be—" Buffy cut herself off at the face the girl was pulling. "Now what did I say?"

"Bran is definitely not my dad."

Buffy eyed her skeptically. "Sure about that?"

The girl huffed hard enough to float the long black wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Da—Darn sure. Bran, the Marrok, is my…guardian, custodian, jailer, authority figure. But dad? Not in this plane of existence."

Still eyeing the girl skeptically, Buffy mused, "I dunno. I mean not that I know you guys or have seen, like, more than a minute of how you are together, but Bran with you kinda reminds me of Giles with me." She pondered for a moment, then added, "Without the tweed and the glasses and the going gray before his time. Otherwise, yeah, there's definite wavelengthiness there."

"Who's Giles?" the girl asked after she'd mostly parsed Buffy's words.

"My first– second Watcher. And my dad figure and friend and mentor and co-signatory on way too many things…and sorta kinda my boss?" Buffy paused to think on that last. She tapped her chin with her forefinger. "Eh… Depends on the day. And how boss-y I'm feeling."

"Bossy?"

"No, boss-y," Buffy said, emphasizing the long E-sound at the end.

"Ooookay."

The girl looked at Buffy and Buffy looked at the girl. They dissolved into giggles. "You know you're weird, right?" the girl said.

Buffy shrugged. "It's taken awhile, but I've come to accept it. So what's your name? I mean I could just keep calling you The Little Powerhouse Who's Not the Marrok in my head, but that's kinda unwieldy even in its abbreviated form. I mean, c'mon, the TLPWNTM? Way too long."

"Actually…" The girl eased her way beyond the doorframe to a chair along the wall. "It would be LPWNM. You wouldn't include the the's."

"Still too long." Buffy wrinkled her nose playfully, an air of expectation around her.

The girl huffed dramatically, but her smile said it was mostly for show. "Okay. My name's Mercedes, but everyone calls me Mercy."

"Cool! My name's Buffy, but please call me Anne."

Mercy's wrinkled her nose in legitimate confusion. "Isn't Buffy the name of the head Vampire Slayer?"

"Uh huh."

"So doesn't make you, like, _the_ Vampire Slayer? Capital V, capital S?"

"I guess you could put it that way."

Mercy rolled her eyes. "Either you are or you aren't."

"Eh…" Buffy wiggled a hand back and forth. "It's a little more slip-slidey than that."

Shaking her head, Mercy said, "That doesn't make any sense."

"And that's why I asked you to call me Anne."

"I don't get it."

"See, I'm not here on Buffy the Vampire Slayer business, because then I'd have to be Demanding Girl, and there'd swords and the scythe and witches – and everyone knows how your dad figure feels about witches."

"He's not my dad figure," Mercy said sourly.

Buffy eyed her skeptically for a minute, then shrugged. "Okay.

"Anyway, so long story long, I'm here on anxious girlfriend business, not anxious slayer business. Might look the same, but they're actually two totally different businesses, hence the name change. Capiche."

"Uh, sure?"

"She gets easier to understand with time," came a weak voice from the bed.

Buffy and Mercy's attention was immediately on Oz, awake for the first time since before he'd been brought down from the mountain. Buffy jumped to her feet. "Oz! Oh thank God!"

"Hey, Buff."

Approaching him carefully, she said, "I'd punch you if you weren't already in traction."

"Am I?"

"Close enough." Buffy leaned over to hug him but by some unknown signal stopped and took his free hand instead. Holding it in both of her own, she rubbed it across her cheek.

"Wrong species, Buff." She shushed him and he laughed softly. "Who's the girl?" he asked next.

Buffy stopped to glance back at Mercy. "Oh, hey. Sorry. This is Mercy. She's the Marrok's-"

"Ward," Mercy interjected for herself.

"Or something like that."

Mercy scowled. "It's exactly like that."

Oz squeezed Buffy's hand to the best of his ability. "It's truth she believes."

Now Buffy scowled, but it dissolved almost as quickly as it had come to her face. "I know you're not fine but I keep wanting to ask you if you're fine and I kinda wanna climb in there with you."

"Let my hand go and I can pat you in."

Buffy immediately dropped it, and Oz slowly, carefully patted the free space next to him on the bed. A full body shudder went through Buffy so that she ended up holding herself instead of climbing onto the bed. "You almost died."

"You have died." Oz patted the bed again.

Buffy gingerly climbed on, then even more gingerly curled herself around Oz's free arm. "I was scared," she whispered.

"Didn't mean to."

"I know." She kissed his shoulder.

Mercy stood suddenly. "I, uh, find this really uncomfortable and I'm gonna go get adult assistance." She slapped her hands over her mouth. "I can't believe I just said that out loud, but you guys are beautiful and really disturbing." She slapped her hands over mouth again. She swore from behind her fingers.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," Buffy said kindly, though without looking at Mercy. "It's not your fault. Go on and get someone responsible-ish."

Mercy uncovered her mouth long enough to squeak an, "Kay!" before running for the proverbial hills.

"Guess I still got it," Oz whispered, eyes closed, already exhausted from his brief reentry into consciousness.

"But what will we do if the Marrok wants it?" Buffy asked his shoulder. Oz was already asleep.

Fin[ite]

 **Note2:** One more story left.


	5. After All

**Title:** After All  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Character(s):** Bran Cornick, Buffy Summers, Oz Osbourne  
 **Summary:** Oz-the-werewolf looked at Bran with neither fear nor animosity. He didn't bow in submission. Buffy, on the other hand was giving Bran the eye. "What, exactly, do you think about my boyfriend?"  
 **Length:** ~1,740 words  
 **Notes:** Written on the last day of the 2018 August FAD…but not posted. I sorta finished at 2am? It was a bad night. Anywho, it's been reviewed and edited for clarity, but the content is largely unchanged (you'll have to trust me). I am my own beta. If I've missed something, please comment in the comments.  
 **Notes2:** This is a good place to note that this series is a _fusion_. Though it is set in the Mercy-verse, it borrows rules from both. There will be a follow-up note at the end. Feel free to ask questions, but if you kick up a fuss regarding why _ is doing _, especially since it doesn't work like that in the _-verse, I will redirect you here.

* * *

"Do you know what Oz is?" Bran asked Buffy.

"My wolfier-than-normal boyfriend?" she said as her eyes tracked the creature pacing the cage behind the Marrok.

Bran rolled his eyes. The wolf behind him slammed against the reinforced bars of his cage. Bran gave Buffy a look.

"My very protective, wolfier-than-normal boyfriend?"

"Buffy..."

"I thought we agreed on Anne."

Bran shook his head. "I can't call you Anne. The name tastes like a lie when I say it and smells like a lie when you do." He glanced back at Oz, still pacing and watching them. "And I hate lies," he said slowly as he turned to face Buffy again.

Brows furrowed, Buffy's eyes skipped between her wolfed-out boyfriend and the leader of all the werewolves in North America. "Uh, is something going on that I should know about? And, for the record, I'd like to mention that I am just as protective of Oz as he is of me. In case you were wondering." She was still frowning, but she wasn't sure if she should be.

"What do you know about Oz?" Bran asked.

Buffy shrugged. She started ticking off traits with her fingers: "Protective," she said pointedly. "Redhead, musician, super-chill without being chilly, low-key nerd, low-key philosopher, low-key hilarious, non-chatty, surprisingly not serious about things most people get all twisted up about, seriously serious about things that are actually worth being serious about, faithful… Um, do you need more because I had to start over with my fingers."

"You could have stopped several traits ago."

"Oh. Well." Buffy made a face. "Why is this important?"

Bran asked her another question instead: "How was Oz turned?"

Shrugging, Buffy said, "Bite. From a toddler. Toddlerish. Toddleresque? Are they still toddlers at 6?"

"Bite?" Bran asked, wisely focused on the most important parts of her ramble. "That's not how werewolves are made."

"It is when the biter is a natural werewolf from a family of natural werewolves," Buffy said sardonically.

Bran's body language, subtly tense before, now relaxed. Behind him, Oz relaxed as well.

Buffy's eyebrows climbed. "Whoa. How did you do that?"

"I thought so." Crossing his arms over his chest, Bran turned around and faced Oz again. The werewolf looked back at him with neither fear nor animosity. He didn't bow in submission.

He yawned.

Buffy, on the other hand, who also had her arms crossed over her chest, was giving Bran the eye. "What, exactly, did you think about my boyfriend?"

"I _know_ that Oz is an omega wolf," Bran said, coming to stand next to Buffy. Together they watched Oz more or less ignore them. "If he were a dominant wolf, my nearness to you would invoke his protective instincts. If he were a submissive werewolf, my presence would make him want to invoke my protective instincts."

Gesturing towards Oz, who was now watching them lazily, she said, "Uh, he's not doing either of those."

"Yes. Exactly."

"I'm lost."

"Doc Wallace told me that, when Mercy went to his office to report that Oz had come out of his coma, she seemed very upset," Bran said as they watched Oz. "When I saw her again later, she could hardly stand to be in the same room with me. Samuel had invited her to stay for dinner. Needless to say, it made dinner more awkward than it usually is when he invites her to stay. What happened at the infirmary two days ago?"

Buffy glanced at Bran, only to see that he was still watching Oz. She sighed. "Nothing, really. Before Oz woke up, we had been having a conversation about something. I told her the truth of the situation the way I see it, and she told me the truth the way she sees it."

"But you see it differently."

"Like, so much. Then Oz did wake up, and I guess I might have pushed it a bit, and then… See, Oz has this way of saying things that are, like, super obvious but no one else would ever say. And when he's around people tend to do the same thing. So I think Mercy had a moment of that and she wigged."

Bran nodded. "And earlier, when I told you why I refuse to call you Anne. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have done that."

"And what makes these abnormal circumstances?"

Bran turned to face Buffy. "That Oz is an omega werewolf."

"Okay, like, you said that already, but you aren't making with the explain-y bits."

Bran took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Omega wolves are rare. Incredibly rare. In a number of ways. They are part of a pack, but outside of its hierarchy."

Frowning, Buffy said, "I didn't know that could happen."

"It's so abnormal, that as far as anyone is concerned it can't happen. Except where omegas are concerned." Bran faced Oz again. "As a side benefit to omega wolves being outside pack hierarchy, they are not effected by its constant struggles for rank and power. They are who they are and none can bring them down or raise them up. Nor do they have a desire for either rank or power. And because they don't desire these things, they allow the wolf that lives inside every werewolf they meet to be at peace."

Buffy gave Bran side-eye. "I don't know what Mercy is, but she's not a werewolf. And if you want to know how I know..." She gestured to Oz. "Plus, y'know, _the_ Vampire Slayer."

Bran didn't rise to the bait, saying instead, "Omegas have a calming, soothing influence on everyone all the time. People are almost involuntarily open around them." He glanced at Buffy. "Did you know him before the Change?"

"Yeah."

"Was he always all the things you described?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"That's why I asked how he'd been turned. There are very few omega wolves because it takes a madman or extreme accidental trauma to turn one. Under normal circumstances, no werewolf could bear to hurt someone with that kind of influence on their wolf."

Buffy grimaced. "Unless he was a toddler-sized natural werewolf with 'Biter' on his blue card." When Oz perked up, Buffy replayed the words in her head. Alarmed she turned to Bran. "His parents have totally got that cleared up, by the way. Like, right after he turned Oz. Very stern talking to. Very much with the biting-is-bad, we-don't-bite-the-ones-we-love, we-don't-bite-anyone-actually talk. Lots of talking."

Bran snorted. "I think I would have heard about it by now if they hadn't taken steps."

"I got one problem with your omega theory."

"What?"

"Just now Oz was all growly face. And before, when Oz was first turned, we always had to cage him and watch him with a tranq gun." Buffy made a face. "He, um, got away from us a few times."

Bran attacked Buffy suddenly. They were at a standstill almost before it began. And Oz was growling and throwing himself at the reinforced steel bars.

"What the hell!" Buffy barked. Oz's growl only seemed to heighten the tension.

Despite being locked in a deadly embrace with the an angry Slayer, Bran was as calm as if they were having tea on his porch. "Like you said, your boyfriend is very protective."

Buffy dared to glance at Oz, still attacking his cage, apparently for her sake. "If I let you go, you promise not to try that again?"

"Of course."

With narrowed eyes, Buffy relaxed her grip on Bran's hands. He stepped back and so did she. Oz kept pacing, but he stopped attacking his cage. "If you tell me we have to kiss and make up to get him to calm down, I will totally break your face."

Bran chuckled. "Is that the truth as you see it?"

"It's the truth as I know it."

He laughed again, harder. Buffy managed to crack a smile as her heart-rate slowed down. "Has anyone ever told you you're kind of a jerk?"

"More than once," Bran admitted.

"Well…so long as you know."

As they settled into their neutral positions, Oz settled in the cage. Watching him again, Buffy said, "So how many omegas are there? You said that they're super rare."

"Oz makes number eight."

Buffy frowned. "Eight hundred? Eight thousand? Eight million?"

Bran shook his head. "No, eight. Period. At least in North America. There are undoubtedly more across the globe. Maybe twenty total. Maybe."

"Holy sh-" She cut herself off when Bran shot her a look.

"I don't like swearing," he said.

"-sheboygan." She scratched the back of her head. "Sorry."

Bran shrugged. Oz yawned. They watched each other.

It was Buffy who broke first. "So now what? What does this mean for Oz and your pack? I'm not giving him up."

Bran spun on his heel to really and truly face Buffy. "Omegas are outside the pack. Oz may be mine because he's a werewolf, but...I can't claim him."

Buffy's eyebrows flew towards her hairline. "Really?"

"It's hard to lie when he's around, remember?"

Squealing, Buffy leapt forward the two steps that separated them and threw her arms around Bran's neck.

He threw a hand up as she moved in for the kill. "I will not be responsible for my actions if you kiss me."

Buffy giggled and disentangled herself from Bran's side. "Can I ruffle your hair?"

"No."

Buffy pouted melodramatically.

"I have raised two teenage boys and am vicariously raising a teenaged girl."

"So it won't work?"

One of Bran's eyebrows went up.

Buffy grinned. "Okay. So when can we go home?"

"Oz should be fully healed by tomorrow. You can leave in the evening if you want."

"Yay!"

"Or you can spend your vacation in Aspen Creek. All expenses paid."

Buffy eyed Bran skeptically. "Is this because my boo is a super special wolf?"

"Yes. Does that bother you?"

"Better than doing it because I'm the Slayer."

"It's a factor. Keep your friends close."

"And your enemies closer?" Buffy said, eyebrows raised.

"Allies."

Buffy smiled. "I'll have to double-check with Oz when he's able to form whole sentences, but I think we'll take you up on your most generous offer. Thank you."

Bran gave her a shallow bow.

"Uh, am I supposed to curtsy?"

Bran laughed, then skirted around her to walk away.

Smiling still, Buffy watched him leave before approaching Oz in his cage. She sat on the floor beside him. "Looks like we're going on vacation after all."

[in]Fin[ite]

* * *

 **Notes3:** Hopefully this answered the variety of questions people have asked me over the course of the series. It was written before all of y'all saw it to ask me questions, but apparently I saw them coming :D

Does Oz look like a Mercy-verse werewolf? Yes. Why? Because this is a fusion story that was completed at 2am on a Saturday.

Isn't Charles the only natural-born werewolf in the Mercy-verse? True. But this is a fusion story. Like Omegas, natural werewolves are exceedingly rare, but they are known (notice Bran's reaction).

Did Bran and Buffy really fight to a standstill? Shouldn't _ be stronger because s/he is the _? Yes, they did. And maybe they should, but destroying each other has never been the point of this story, as Buffy clearly states over and over again.

Why is Bran so chill about everything? Because, Bran. Also because Oz is an omega werewolf.

Why doesn't Buffy (and/or the Watchers Council) not know about Omega werewolves? Because there are 20 or less of them worldwide. In the current Mercy-verse timeline there are a whopping 12 in N. America.

If there are any other questions not addressed here, please ask in the comments. I'll be happy to answer :)


	6. Summers in Montana

**Title** : Smoothing My Heart Down  
 **Author** : Vashti  
 **Character(s)** : Buffy, Dawn, Oz, Bran, Leah  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **Summary** : Buffy and Oz go back to Montana for fun, sun and grown up conversation. Eventually. Later.  
 **Length** : ~1350 words  
 **Notes** : Written for this year's FAD. As usual, I've looked it over for clarity but the story is otherwise unchanged. Except the title! If you read this in August, it was "Smoothing My Heart Down". No idea how/where the title got changed. *shrug* If you've never read anything in this series before, you're probably okay. I'm pretty sure there's enough background here that you can get by just fine without them. You probably don't need to know much about the Mercy Thompson 'verse either, but it would help.

* * *

"Where are you going again?" Dawn asked, frowning even as she helped her sister and favorite werewolf pack their rental car.

"To Montana," was Buffy's reply. It wasn't the first time she'd answered this question, and not only from her baby sister.

"Um, why?"

"Why not?" Buffy countered as she lifted an amp into the back. The wide-eyed stare Dawn was giving her meant that she wasn't packing fast enough. Rolling her eyes, Buffy took the bag from her sister's hand and haphazardly tossed it over the storage area into the rear seats.

"There're no beaches!" Dawn called as Buffy passed her to go back into their house.

"I noticed!" Buffy shouted over her shoulder.

"Or malls!"

Coming back out of the house, Buffy paused long enough to roll her eyes, again, at her little sister. "There are totally malls."

Dawn put her hands on her hips. "Not like here."

"You'd be surprised," Buffy said as she went back to filling the car.

Shaking her head, Dawn gave up and went back into the house to grab the cooler full of snacks. Inside she ran into her sister's boyfriend. "Oh! Oz! You'll tell me the truth. Why are you and Buffy going to Montana for, like, an entire month."

"S'nice," was his very loquacious reply. Which, to be sure, was about the _length_ of response Dawn was expecting if not the _content._

"I can't be for the hot guys. You and Buffy are like this," she said, holding up her crossed fingers.

Smiling softly, Oz pulled her hand towards himself so he could place a gentle kiss on her twined fingertips. Then he pressed her kissed-fingers to Dawn's own lips.

She colored. "What was that about?"

"You're a good sister and we both love you."

"Oh." A pleased smile broke across Dawn's face even as she blushed harder. "Geez, Oz. No wonder she likes you," she muttered.

"It's one reason," Buffy said as she walked in. (It was all but impossible to have a private moment in a house with a werewolf and the Slayer.)

Oz caught Buffy around the waist and bussed her lips with his own. "Ready?" At her nod, he released his girlfriend to pick up his guitar case from the floor. "Let's go."

"Be good," Buffy said, reaching for Dawn. "No poisoning Willow and Tara with your crazy cooking."

"Hey!" Despite the teasing, the sisters shared smiles and a tight hug. Dawn turned to Oz, his free arm already open and waiting for her. Unlike her sister, Oz said, "Throw a wild party."

"Hey!" this time from Buffy.

Dawn and Oz shared a grin as they parted. "Well I know why _I_ like you."

"Hands off!"

More teasing and semi-serious instructions were tossed between the three as they made their way out to the rental. Buffy and Oz climbed in, Oz in the driver's seat ("For everyone else's safety!" Dawn had said, grinning at the raspberry her sister blew in response). Then they were pulling out of the Summers' driveway as Dawn followed behind, sending them off with a grin and wave and little-sisterly advice.

It wasn't until she was halfway back to the house that she realized she still didn't know why the pair had chosen to spend the first half of their summer vacation from school and baddies in Montana of all places.

"Ooooh!"

* * *

Buffy glanced at her boyfriend before her eyes were drawn back to the road. "Do you think we should have called ahead?"

"They already knew we were coming, Buff."

"For vacation," she countered, nose wrinkling. "Not business."

Oz's eyes flicked towards her. "You not planning to vacate at all?"

"I most definitely plan to vacate. Did you not see the teenie-weenie bikini I packed? Aspen Creek may not have a beach but Mercy swore that the swimming hole is where all the cool kiddos hang. And plus? Way shway sun deck on that house Bran the Marrok loaned us last time."

"Same house as last time?" Oz asked, referencing where they'd stayed the one other time they'd had an extended "layover" in Montana the winter previous.

Oz had gotten beaten up by nature the last time they'd ventured into the wilds of Montana. He'd been fortunate to be found by a local werewolf pack. It had also happened to be the local pack of the Marrok, the alpha of all werewolves on the North American continent.

The Marrok, or Bran, had nursed Oz back to health and offered a tentative hand of friendship to the Slayer. Ostensibly the pair had been going on vacation for the one halcyon week in winter when evil seemed to take a holiday, so most of their time in Montana had been spent roasting marshmallows, taking pictures of beautiful snowy forest, trawling the local mall, falling from skis (cross-country!), and pretending to not be the nightmare of the supernatural world. One day Bran had taken them on a sleigh ride, and then invited them to a kind of town-wide talent show. It had been fun. Occasionally weird (Buffy wasn't sure what Mercy's talent was supposed to be), but fun.

Nodding, Buffy said, "Pretty sure it's the same house. Sounds like that's where he puts up the visiting dignitaries and junk."

Oz cut his eyes at his girlfriend again. "Visiting dignitaries and junk?"

"Yeah?"

"He's probably expecting that we're gonna want to do _some_ business."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Really?"

Oz chuckled.

"Why do all the old foges have to be so serious?" she said, remembering how she'd struggled to convince Bran that she'd come to his town to retrieve her _boyfriend_ not start a war. She'd come alone, after all. If she'd wanted to start a war, she had two witches, a sister-slayer, the crazy extensive research prowess of a mystical key and former curator of the British Museum, and a seriously under-respected carpenter in her back pocket. Plus, y'know, a growing army of mini-slayers. Sure Buffy and the new Watchers Council would have been hilariously outnumbered, but since when had that ever stopped them?

Spoiler: Never.

At the time she'd told Bran that she hadn't been there to renegotiate the treaty that the old Watchers' Council had made with him in the way back when, but now...

"Think we can at least put it off until _after_ the Polson Cherry Festival? It's in two weekends."

Reaching for Buffy's hand, Oz said, "No cherry pie, no deal."

"Exactly!"

* * *

Leah was plaiting her long hair when she said to her husband and mate, "You should probably wait until after the cherry festival to start negotiations." The words were carefully chosen to be advice instead of an order. Not that she would dare, but lots of things could be misconstrued before morning coffee.

"Oh? Why?" Bran was half in their walk-in closet, but was of course perfectly able to hear his wife.

"The Slayer has a sweet-tooth. And, as far as we know, she's only bringing the omega wolf."

"Oz. Her boyfriend," Bran confirmed as he stepped out.

Shrugging at no one-Leah was facing away from Bran-she said, "The Slayer is a young woman coming to Montana with her boyfriend. The last time she did that, she refused to talk business at all." Leah turned to look at her husband as she coiled her long, long blond hair around her head in a crown that emphasized the strength and loveliness of her face. "Let her have the cherry festival."

"Pleasure before business?"

Leah shrugged. "She seems to love her boyfriend. They jumped at the chance to spend time here even after he was mauled in the woods. She'll probably appreciate the gesture."

Bran nodded. "I'll consider it."

"Do whatever you want. You always do," Leah said as she stood to leave their room.

Bran caught her hand before she could. "I do appreciate the advice."

Her hand twitched in his, eyes trained on the bridge of his nose. "Do you?"

Then she was gone.

Bran sighed. What did it say about his marriage when he was looking forward to hosting a slayer on his home turf for a month?

Fin[ite]


	7. If You Knew More

**Title:** If You Knew More  
 **Character(s):** Bran, Oz, Leah, Buffy  
 **Rating:** PG/FR 13  
 **Summary:** Oz's Aunt Maureen has a saying: "If you knew more, you'd say less."  
 **Length:** ~1,740 words  
 **Dedication:** This is all AvaMclean's fault. After "Summers in Montana" she wrote: "You do realize I want some Buffy and Leah interactions. Possibly over pie while Bran wonders how his mate gets along so well with her and Oz is gets it cause he's Oz and he gets most things. :)"  
 **Notes:** Written for the August 2019 FAD over on livejournal. It's been revised for clarity, but it's mostly unchanged.

* * *

If they had been in an anime version of the annual Polson Cherry Festival and not the actual one, Buffy's eyes would have alternately bugged out past her head, then turned into giant throbbing hearts. All of the wolves near enough to witness her reaction was amused. A few even mistakenly decided her enthusiastic enthusiasm was a sign that the Slayer wasn't nearly as scary as the stories made her out to be.

Bran, older than everyone at the festival, questionably wiser, certainly as devious if not moreso, and possessing features more akin to an undergrad art major than the leader of all the werewolves on the North American continent, wondered if she might be more dangerous than the stories let on. He knew quite a bit about letting the tales told by others do the work of hiding for you.

There was no story of the Slayer, not the ones he himself had told or had heard, that could have prepared him for Buffy...and his wife bonding over pie. The Slayer's affect was classic California girl, which she seemed to tune to the situation as need. All in all, however, it made for a generally agreeable first impression, if an inaccurate estimation of her intelligence.

Leah in contrast could certainly be polite, even cordial, but her wolf was too dominant to ever willingly pretend to be anything less than fiercely intelligent, and her human self was too vain to ever be meek.

And yet for over an hour, Bran and Oz, the Slayer's omega werewolf boyfriend, had been trailing after the pair of blonds like men who had dared to marry close-knit sisters. Bran had at first assumed that Oz's presence was the facilitating factor in the relationship. He was, after all, an omega wolf.

Dominant wolves were driven to protect others and prove themselves. Content in both their place in the world and who they were, submissive wolves had nothing to prove which often led them to giving way before their dominant counterparts. Incredibly rare and special, Omegas were neither driven to prove themselves nor compelled to give way. They understood both sides without being bound to either. In their presence, the wild beast that lived in every werewolf could rest. Omegas were peace.

The effect was most obvious among the two-natured, but all omegas had once been fully human themselves. Except for very small children and the absolutely mad, they brought peace to any and everyone that came within their sphere of influence.

(It was unthinkable that any sane werewolf would be able to inflict the amount of damage it took to turn a fully human omega. It was the primary reason why there were so few. Well over half of the wolves under Bran's control were dominant to some degree. Nearly all the rest were submissive. For purposes of statistics, Bran's son didn't bother to include the omegas, instead adding them as a footnote in small print at the bottom of colorful graphs.)

So if anyone could get the gregarious Slayer and Bran's ascerbic wife together peaceably, it would be the omega wolf. Except it was Oz who was regularly left behind at the house Bran had loaned the Slayer for the month when both she and Leah wanted to go into Troy to shop. And Oz had been nowhere in sight the night Bran had "caught" both women sitting near each other on the back porch, wrapped up in light blankets against the cool Montana evening and chuckling. More than once both Buffy and Oz had come to Bran's house, only for Leah to leave her work and for Buffy ("I'm stealing your wife to go sunbathing on my shway sunroof. 'Kaythanksbye!") to leave Oz behind ("I hear you play?").

It was Leah who grabbed Buffy's hand to introduce her to Sage, her closest friend in the pack.

So it wasn't Oz. And it wasn't Buffy's sunny California disposition. Leah had broken sunnier.

Trailing behind his wife and mate and their summer guest, Bran was... Content was too strong a word for what he felt. Resigned, then. Bran was resigned to not understanding the working parts of Leah's and Buffy's friendship, but as it had been near the top of his concerns for the upcoming negotiations, he could only be happy that it worked. And do everything in his power to make it last.

* * *

The Osbourne family had a motto. It was unspoken, of course, but Oz had yet to meet any of his far-flung family members who didn't live by it. The only time he'd heard it spoken by a member of the family was when he and his parents had spent a weekend in LA visiting his father's sister, Aunt Maureen.

Oz could still feel the wrinkle between his childish brows, watching an old man tear into a candy bar he'd fished from a garbage can, after piling bottles and cans into a store shopping cart. "Ew, what's he doing that for? It's gross."

Somehow only he and Aunt Maureen had been the ones to see the old man. Smiling with what Oz would later hear his father call her sad eyes, she had gently and firmly run a finger across his brows and down his nose, smoothing out all the wrinkles. "If you knew more, Daniel Osborne, you'd say less."

(It was the first time Oz remembered hearing his aunt quote the family credo, but certainly not the last. It would still be a few years before he realized that his aunt's favorite saying was the Osborne way of life, but he never forgot.)

That Thanksgiving, for the first time, Oz's family had joined the still single Maureen at her church's soup kitchen where she was a regular volunteer. He said very little.

"Hey, we're going to the bathroom," Buffy told Bran as they all stood under a red-striped awning. "We'll be right backish."

Bran and not Oz, because Oz's wolf wouldn't be offended by perceived disrespect. Buffy not Leah because, with the two B's functionally having the same rank, her words were less likely to be considered a challenge with their implied order to wait in place.

"If we're not here when you get back, check the ice cream stand," was Bran's reply.

"Perf!" Then she slipped her arm into Leah's, and together they strode off towards the ever growing line for the women's restrooms.

Bran shook his head.

Oz nodded in agreement. "S'not fair."

Confused, Bran turned to look at Oz. "What's not fair."

Oz met his eyes. "There's never enough bathrooms for girls?"

Obviously he and Bran had not been on the same wavelength. Oz watched him blink it out for a moment, until Bran started to chuckle. "You're right. The lack of restroom facilities for women and girls is deplorable, but that's not what I was talking about. I meant the two of them. Leah and Buffy."

Oz frowned. "What about them?"

Bran's eyebrows rose, then he crossed his arms and really studied Oz. "Their connection doesn't surprise you, does it."

"Is it supposed to?"

"Surprises me."

Oz frowned again. "Really? Hmm."

"What do you see that I don't? Or can't." At Oz's quirked eyebrow, Bran puffed a small laugh and added, "Or won't."

"No offense, but that's for me to know and you to figure out."

Bran's puff of laughter grew into the real thing. "It's a good thing you're an omega."

"Was that a bare-your-throat-or-have-it-ripped-out offense?"

"Could be," Bran said with genuine good humor.

"Huh. I never can tell."

"I've never met an omega who could." Bran clapped Oz on the back. "Lets get that ice cream. The girls will appreciate a treat when they get off the line

Oz clapped him back. "There just might be hope for you, man."

* * *

"You don't like my honey bunny much, do you," Buffy said into the still mountain air much later that night. She and Leah were on Buffy's borrowed sun deck, wrapped in light blankets on the same lawn chairs they'd been using as tanning beds.

Leah glanced over at Buffy, a brow creasing her strong feature. "Huh?"

"My honey bunny. Boo bear. Sweetie pie. My scrumdidlyumptious. Sugar-" Buffy stopped herself, pressing a horrified hand to her chest. "I've been possessed by Anya's ghost."

Which sent Leah giggling into her cup of cocoa. "I still have no idea what you're talking about."

Sighing, Buffy put down her own cup of chocolate to look at her host. "Oz. You don't like Oz." She made it statement, because the real question was, "Why?"

Leah scowled-admittedly not unfamiliar look on the other blond woman's face-refusing to answer for a long time. If Oz had been in the house behind them, she might have refused altogether, but he'd volunteered to go down to the clinic to visit some of the patients (mostly human) with his guitar and his special brand of comfort. Eventually Leah sighed and plopped her mug next to Buffy's with a loud click.

"He makes me feel." Before Buffy could jump in with a semi-snarky reply she added, "He makes it so I have to be honest. Too honest. With myself. With whoever else is there..." She turned to Buffy, catching her eyes for a moment before habit had them sliding away. "I worked hard on my walls, and in an instant they're gone when Oz is around."

Reaching across the distance between them, Buffy took Leah's hand in her own. "It's not the worst thing in the world to love your husband."

"When the monster inside of him is a ravening beast that will destroy the world if it's not kept on a tight leash? A leash your husband is dead set on holding, and you are dead set on helping him maintain..."

Buffy squeezed the hand in her own. "I never told you about my first boyfriend, Angel, did I?" When Leah shook her head she added, "Yeah, he was, _is_ , a 200-plus year old master vampire, rocking a gypsy curse that gave him a soul. A soul that has the very minor loophole that if he ever felt a moment of pure happiness he would lose his curse-induced soul and revert back to who he had been when he was cursed. The Scourge of Europe."

Leah's eyes locked onto Buffy's. She squeezed the smaller blond's hand. And together they watched the stars do their slow dance across the sky.

[in]Fin[ite]


End file.
